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Lightning
Lightning is the nickname of a half-elf adventurer currently living in Crucible's keep. Little is known about this mysterious wizard, except that he is from Ryth and he was once the husband and adventuring companion of Thunder. They have since divorced, but are occasionally seen together at the Drunken Fox in Crucible's Keep. The Chronicles of Lightning, Elven Moon Mage. As far as strongholds go, Crucible's Keep is a stonework behemoth so sudden and glorious in it's appearance, that when those few uninitiated wayfarers from provincial areas of the Evenfall set their fresh eyes upon the impregnable redoubt, their mouths must open and gasp that such a monument to the will of civilization could be seemingly carved out of the very snow-capped mountains surrounding it. Even a being so jaded as I, had to stop and admire the weatherworn, grey walls. The crisp mountain air assaulting every weakness in my flowing, black robes. Once inside, the gritty reality of man's civilization stifles those grandiose notions of the learned men that no doubt dreamed here as lesser men toiled away under their supervision. Spring One could quench their entire life's thirst for entertainment and stimulation sitting in the Drunken Fox in Crucible's Keep. The parade of grizzled veterans from the Evenfall that venture eastwards and assemble thereabouts is fascinating. These are not the sort that gather in flame lit taverns after the harvest to trade stories of that time they saved the village, misremembering how they accidentally killed that twenty foot tall goblin with a hunting bow or waxing poetic about when Lord So and So's second cousin stopped by their hovel and begged their patronage. No, these brave folk that await the Baron's contracts are true champions. Guardians of the realm. Some are humble and guarded with their words. Some are wild and riotous. All of them are the deadliest of killers. I often wonder what happenstance in this life divides the shepherds from the wolves. '' '14th day of Spring' ''It had been decided. Having crossed paths with a brother elf, Tres Ni, the inspiring, talented bard of renown from Ryth and also Teal'c, a hulking master of the fighting arts, the three of us conspired to fulfill a Baronial charter calling us to explore what mayhap be the ruins of an Azgornian town, long forgotten. We are as a trident thrust southwards by the hand of the civilized Evenfall into the darkness of the Wayward Hollows. '' ''We reached the sentry watchtower by midday. It had been upraised and restocked by a garrison of five men at arms. The extra height constructed to gaze farther afield and a tower canopy and stable for the benefit of the men and horses otherwise defenseless against the soaring menace of a rampant griffon. From atop the hastily rebuilt tower we spied to the north and east a great highland region and to the south and west a vast riparian lowland that sank into a broad leaf forest. In the middle of those far woods peaked a hill and upon it sat the barely visible ruins we mean to explore. We resolved to reach the edge of the woods by evening and did so. Having traversed afield for about ten miles, we wearily approached the woods as the sun dipped behind the western mountains. Content to set up camp and rest our travel ravaged muscles, we spied what at first looked like a flock of turkeys but turned out to be aggressive cockatrices, eventually frightened away by an illusory pack of dire wolves that Tres Ni summoned from the Weave. '' 15th day of Spring'' I neglected to mention that yesterday, somewhere on our easy descent down the dry savanna, we stumbled upon several broad stones, seemingly placed by an intelligence. As we crested a hillock, we could recognize a pattern. The stones appeared to form a symbol, unknown to us, but not altogether dissimilar to the markings found far north of here, symbols discovered and described by the expedition to the Eye a fortnight ago. Today's journey was a tribute to the skill of our burly companion, Teal'c, who seemed to possess a vast knowledge concerning wilderness matters, here and there pointing out sources of fresh water, edible and medicinal plants, poisonous plants, tracks of animals and tracks of some larger, potentially more dangerous creatures as well. Thanks to Teal'c, we were able to locate a sort of overgrown game trail and travel 19 miles through the thick woods. At most times, with the forest canopy and the dense grey clouds conspiring against us, it would have been certain that without Teal'c, we should have been astray in these woods evermore. Having been safely delivered by Teal'c, we prepared our camp on the periphery of the woodlands, a few miles distant from the ruins. From our camp, we could perceive a fallow moorland leading to a motte with a crumbling cathedral upon it. Encircling the cathedral, here and there were other vestiges of the Azgornian civilization that erstwhile flourished here on this now barren clearing, only collapsing masonry, what were once stone walls and buildings, endure. Regrettably, 'tween our camp and the ruined town sits what is obviously an ancient cemetery. Nearby camp, we have also discovered more of those aforementioned strange markings, these having been carved into a few seemingly random trees. I feel uneasy knowing that the moon is full and yet unseen, hidden behind the ever present clouds. Now more than ever, the Wayward Hollows seems a dark and haunted place. I can only hope that whilst we must gaze up at darkened, starless skies, Sehanine's blessings can reach us in this cursed land. 16th day of Spring I see a man, a farmer, toiling away amongst teeming fields; he stops working to wipe the sweat from his brow with a colorful handkerchief. The farmer closes his eyes and lets a cool breeze blowing down from the clear blue, sun-filled sky restore his vigor. The farmer's eyes snap open suddenly as a savage, guttural howl from the woodland beyond his fields breaks his reverie. Fear and panic course through my being. I watch the man, now clad in armor and wielding a sword and shield, awaiting the charge of some threat from the forest. Orcs. I see many orcs surround the desperate man, for every orc he cuts down, two more take it's place. Overwhelmed. Desperate. I cannot help but be overcome with grief. The rising anger I felt is now an intense melancholy. The sadness overwhelms me as the man is cut down and savaged by the triumphant orcs and I weep uncontrollably. '' ''When I again open my eyes, the sky is dark with black clouds, the man is gone and only a simple headstone on a barren moor remains in what was once thriving farmland. I try to read the etching on the headstone but I am too far away. I leave the safety of my woodland hiding spot and slowly approach the grave. As I draw closer, the air seems to still and my pulse quickens. I can almost see the markings from here, I should go no farther but some unknown force conquers the terror building within me as I step forward. Suddenly, decaying, bony hands thrust upwards through the ground. I am helpless as the unliving pull me down, paralyzed with terror, in the vice like grip of the forsaken. As I sink beneath the ground, I desperately scan the edge of the woods for my companions but see no one. Intense cold overtakes my body as I resign myself to death or worse, all hope fading. Only then do I hear a voice from afar, it is Tres Ni, Never has the already beautiful elvish language sounded more pleasing to the ear. I feel as though a single flower has bloomed defiantly upon this waste. I renew my struggle to keep above the ground as the grip of the undead loosens. Tres Ni's voice grows louder; he is calling my name. Such was the nightmare I was awoken from by my companions. The sense of dread and unease I felt lingered a great while as we packed up camp and prepared to venture forth toward the ruins. We reached the abandoned cemetery and found many graves whose soil was recently disturbed. It looked as though this were in fact, a burial ground for those valiant Azgornian knights that fought a losing battle against the orcs so many centuries ago. I felt some sadness as we looked upon what must have been a sacred place, now surely abandoned by the unknown god that the Azgornians worshiped. The language inscribed upon the tombs and gravestones there is the same as the strange markings found elsewhere in the Wayward Hollows. My nightmare abruptly came true as the arm of a zombie erupted from the grave that Tres Ni was inspecting. Shortly thereafter, two more zombies crawled forth and all three were dispatched by our combined might and magic. '' ''In the center of the cemetery stood the most impressive construction amongst the more elaborate tombs. A ten foot tall mausoleum with etchings and artwork indicating the town hereabouts was once called High Hill and this mausoleum houses an impressive looking paladin who single-handedly killed some five score orcs with a magical sword called Orcsbane, before being slain by something that phonetically translates as "the Khoth". It appears that it was customary for the Azgornian knights to be buried with their arms and armor. I think it may be prudent for a cleric to revisit the cemetery and re-consecrate the fallen there, abandoned by their long dead god. As we approached what once must have been an awe-inspiring cathedral of shining marble, now dusted and crumbling, a shadow of it's former glory. We crept stealthily through the desolate environs, sneaking by skeletons that hauntingly patrolled the half buried stone ruins. Inside the cathedral itself was a most impressive sight, it's beauty difficult to convey with the written word. When we probed deeper into the cathedral, we were overcome with a horrific stench and spied three horrific ghouls feasting on a corpse of indeterminate origin. There was a larger one with a nearly foot long tongue slithering out of it's slobbering, fanged mouth to gorge itself on the remains and two smaller ghouls, one missing a nose and the other ignoring an open wound in it's stomach where it's innards had spilled out. The ghouls pallid flesh seemed to match the begrimed marble surrounding them. After a frightening battle wherein my robe was slashed open and our party was at times bitten, scratched, paralyzed and nearly consumed by those vile creatures, we secured victory over the forces of evil. The threat seemingly vanquished and having achieved our objective of reconnoitering the ruined town now known as High Hill, I recommended that we summon Harold and return to the keep. However, the general consensus, which in hindsight I should have more vigorously opposed, was that because we only retrieved a small marble statue of an angelic being, a large copper bowl, green with oxidation and a tarnished silver incense lamp with Azgornian writing on it, we should instead attempt to retrieve the magical blade, Orcbane, from the mausoleum, as it was most likely buried within as was the Azgornian custom. The argument was presented that one cannot be a tomb robber if a tomb is unconsecrated. Gods or not, there is always a price to pay for greed, it would seem. On our way back to the mausoleum, we destroyed the wandering skeletons. The excavation was rather quick and soon Teal'c crept into the grave and used a crowbar to pry open the stone sarcophagus. Sure enough, there sat Orcbane, buried ceremonially with the forgotten paladin of old. I feared for Teal'c as he reached for the hilt to pry it from the cobweb covered paladin. I feared his fate was sealed in that very moment. Some strange curse avowing a shorter lifespan due to his profane avarice. I consider myself well versed in matters of those most vile enemies of good peoples, the undead, but I am unsure what classification could be assigned to the eerie, abhorrent power that awoke the paladin from it's ancient repose and gave it animation. It clutched Orcbane with a frightening speed. Teal'c withdrew and hastily climbed out of the grave. The paladin soon followed and rotting flesh began growing upon the creature and spreading over it's corpse like some necrotic ooze. My magic was of no use against this threat, as injury inflicted by me seemed to affect it not. The three of us were now overcome with a powerful dread, compelling us to leave our heavy packs and retreat as fast as we could to the perceived safety of the woods. I noticed that as we ran, the appalling creature stood facing the woods and moved no further. By some cruel twist of fate, we happened past a massive ogre devouring the raw flesh of a deer, which he dropped to pick up a gnarled club and pursue us. The three of us briefly lost sight of our hulking pursuer and took the opportunity to hide separately in the woods as we heard it lumbering towards us. The sound grew louder still and before I could move, it smashed it's club into me at a terrific velocity. The darkness overtook me. When I returned to a state of consciousness, Tres Ni was helping me imbibe a potion with healing properties. He explained that once the ogre smashed me unconscious, Teal'c leapt from his hiding spot and threw a rock at the beast, hitting it in the head. The wounded ogre then charged after him, as he heroically led it away from us, thus saving our lives. We were at first unsure what to do. We carefully attempted to follow where Teal'c had disappeared to, but could find no sign of him or the ogre. We were without our packs, containing the bulk of our necessary supplies and without the charter that could summon Harold, which was in the hands of our brave savior, Teal'c, whereabouts unknown. It was decided that we should rest for the night, staying as hidden as possible while hoping that Teal'c would wander by or call out for us. A defeated, depressing feeling lingered over us that night as we sat hungry and thirsty in the dark, trying to remain silent. When next I awoke, I was startled by the heavy breathing of a massive dire wolf. it seemed to be guarding me and I could hear voices in the distance. The wolf turned out to be the loyal companion of a ranger of mysterious origin. he was hostile at first, but once convinced that we were no threat agreed to guide us through the forest to safety. He spoke broken common with a strange accent I didn't recognize and I noticed that he wore a brooch with the strange markings found all over the Wayward Hollows. He also confirmed our worst fears, announcing he had found the dead body of our friend, Teal'c. We bid farewell to our mysterious guide at the edge of the forest and mercifully, were able to limp back to civilization unharmed. 42nd day of Spring I was party to a most interesting conversation last night at the Drunken Fox. There I sat, with friends & allies. Among them, a mysterious elvish druid, recommended to me by my former wife, for adventuring and interest free personal loans. Also among us, was Arthos, an elvish knight militant of an unknown faith, a relative newcomer to Crucible's Keep. Eventually, as the oil & wicks lowered, only the three of us remained in the common room of the famous tavern. There was talk of a griffon hunt to collect the 300 gold bounty offered by the Baron. The Baron's soldiers had relayed information pertaining to the griffon's whereabouts, including in their report that the griffon was thought to nest somewhere in the north, due to it having never been spotted south of the keep. We decided that we would travel to the baronial watchtower 30 miles to the north, the last point of civilization between the keep and the Mithril mountains, aware of the orcish danger, ever increasing as one treks northward. '' ''I also shared a legend which I was privy to, concerning an ancient Azgornian monastery, somewhere in the Mithril mountains to the north. The monastery, known as Zealot's Rise, was said to be constructed atop a mountain peak so lofty, from thither, one could overlook the entire kingdom of Azgorn. Also aforesaid concerning the monastery, was the tremendous effort required to reach it. Precariously steep, winding mountain pathways, some dangerously small had discouraged all but the most devout pilgrims from ascending to the acme & thus, as legend has it, achieving communion with the Azgornian god. Perhaps we will catch the griffon & discover the location of the monastery as well, only time will tell. We departed the keep at dawn, agreeing to vigorously march the north trail throughout the day, hoping to reach the watchtower 30 miles distant by nightfall. The lands to the north of the keep are not dissimilar to what one would expect of the Wayward Hollows from previous reports.Towards the evening, slowly rising above the horizon, the watchtower entered our view. The majority of the tower being constructed with stone, it appeared more massive than the eastern watchtower. An eerie calm & silence lingered as we cautiously approached. Upon our arrival, our shouted greetings were ignored, and my heart sank when two horse corpses were found, savaged to death in the vicious manner described in other recent griffon attacks. The corpses were mauled, but uneaten, strange behavior for a griffon. While searching the watchtower environs, a noise was heard from within the stables. The stable doors displayed scratch-marks and seemed to have been closed suddenly, as they were wedged shut. We could hear something moving within. The druid freed the stable door, revealing a large warhorse, that panicked as the dusk light of the setting sun poured into the dark stables. As the druid calmed the panicking horse, we noticed a trail of blood leading from the stable doors to a darkened corner and what appeared at first to be a dead soldier. However, upon further inspection, Arthos declared the soldier still living, and called upon a mysterious divine magic to heal him. Arthos seemed calm & still as he channeled the power of an unknown god. I watched as the soldier's huge, bloody gashes closed, then scabbed over. The soldiers eyes flickered open and a horrified countenance afflicted his visage as he suddenly regained consciousness. We decided to stay here at the tower tonight. The soldier turned out to be Captain Elorios, in charge of six other men-at-arms, now missing & presumed dead. Only the captain & his horse remained, therefore, the captain sent a messenger raven back to the keep, detailing what had transpired and asking for reinforcements. It was reported by Captain Elorios that three griffons attacked earlier, slashing at, and carrying to great heights, men and horses. The captain further stated he had wounded one of them with a javelin attack before being mortally wounded, saved only by Arthos' reinvigorating divine magic. The druid & I decided to climb the tower and gaze northward, utilizing the last rays of sunset. To the east were highlands, and between us and the Mithril mountains, 70 miles to the northeast, were rolling hills & what looked like from afar, a large woodland area that would provide cover in case of a griffon attack. 43rd day of Spring At dawn, we started northwards from the watchtower, bidding farewell to Captain Elorios, and continuing our griffon hunt, that now included the hopelessly grim task of discovering the fate of the six missing soldiers. On our way north, after very few miles traveled, we chanced upon the soldiers' remains. The bodies were grotesquely displayed here and there, savaged and bloody. Their final resting places seemingly determined by where the griffons tired of carrying them in flight above. I gathered what little wealth they carried, so it may be returned to their families with news of their passing when we return to the keep. '' ''Having traveled 18 miles, with the evening fast approaching, we breached the woodland we had spied from afar, the day before. Discovered within the woodland was what seemed to have been an ancient Azgornian road, heading west towards the Evenfall and northeast, towards the Mithril mountains, appearing now, overgrown and disused. However, after close inspection by the druid, it was determined, the ancient roadway was still being used as a trail by humanoids traveling in both directions. Accomplishing another 6 miles of northerly woodland travel upon the trail, we found a rocky outcropping perfectly suited for a camp. As the sun sank below the western horizon, I realized that I was ill prepared for travel north. Even though it is the middle of Spring, as we travel north and achieve ever higher elevation, the cold assaults my person, this night, finally forcing me to call upon my elvish ancestors to light a small, magical campfire. Luckily for my once shivering self, none of my companions objected. 44th day of Spring Today would have been a most pleasant day, the druid leading us hiking through the beautiful, evergreen woodlands, except that somehow I had been afflicted by a bothersome, painful rash on my hands and face, probably acquired by way of tactile contact with some toxic plant growing upon the forest floor. I can only hope the rash soon vanishes as suddenly as it appeared. As we traveled northeast along the trail, the subtle rise in elevation was barely noticed. It did however, seem slightly cooler today, under the shade of the various conifers, and among the now overflowing streams and pools, fed by Spring runoff from the Mithril mountains. '' '45th day of Spring' ''Cold. That is how this day began. Having camped at the edge of the woodland, in the light of dawn, we could now see the immensity and majesty of the mighty Mithril mountains. The snow-capped peaks reaching for the heavens, said to be the legendary homeland of giantkind. We had actually reached the foothills sometime yesterday within the northern woods, but only this morning, having emerged from the forest, realized how close we were to the range, now just 22 miles distant. '' ''After traveling along the trail all day, we noticed ahead of us, a number of ripped open orc corpses. Further ahead, we spied in the distance, a griffon tearing open an orc warrior's body. It had not yet seen us, so I cast a spell of white armor upon myself as Arthos inched closer to the beast. Arthos' attempt to sneak up to the griffon failed. In response, I immediately channeled white lightning from my hands and set the closest tree I could find near the griffon ablaze. I started toward the now burning tree, so that it could augment my magical powers. By the time I reached the blazing tree and began hitting the beast with white lightning, I could see the druid firing her bow at the griffon and Arthos engaging it in close combat, skillfully dodging the griffon's hurried, savage attacks as his greatsword hacked at what appeared to me, a rabid, cursed or somehow, supernaturally controlled beast. After a furious battle, the injured beast rendered Arthos unconscious. By Sehanine's grace, I was able to fell it shortly thereafter with a massive white lightning discharge, enhanced by the burning tree above me. The druid quickly tended to Arthos' wounds, preventing him from slipping away. I administered a healing elixir as well, restoring his vigor, thus awakening him. I summoned Harold as a weakened Arthos severed the head of the griffon as proof for the bounty and gathered it's feathers as well. Clouds now gathered thick and dark overhead as we waited for Harold to finish the ritual that would return us to the keep. We noticed a cave a little higher up the mountain, a few hundred yards away. It was decided, against my advice, that we would cautiously peek inside. Arthos took the lead, with the druid behind him. I followed behind as well, close enough to assist them with my magic, if they encountered danger. The cave was fairly large, at least 10' in height & 15' width. An ice cold stream issued forth from the mountainside entrance, trickling down the rock-strewn ascent, here and there forming pools of clear snow melt & the tiny waterfalls that relieved them. Immediately within the cave, various damaged supplies, trinkets & firewood were scattered about. The unmistakable stench of orckind and refuse mixed together to assault our elvish senses. Deeper in the cave, Arthos found fur pelts, drying skins & a stack of supplies, no doubt, the spoils of many orcish raiding excursions. As I neared the cave entrance myself, I cast the spell, Eclipse, so that I might venture forth, unseen by others. Just then, I heard Arthos cry out an alarm; he had spotted an orc hiding in the shadows. To my great surprise, Arthos the elf began conversing with the vile creature in it's guttural, native tongue. It seemed to me, as friendly a conversation as one could have with such an irredeemably evil being as an orc. Arthos even sheathed his sword and tossed the orc some food, in what I thought at the time was either a gesture of peace or as the onset of some mental difficulty. The druid and I watched from afar, astonished at what was transpiring. I began to think some unknown magic was at work, as Arthos knelt next to, and opened, a small wooden chest, which seemed to contain a fortune in ancient coins and gems. Arthos then reached to the side of the chest, and as his hand met the ground, the orc came screaming out of the darkness, charging at Arthos and brandishing a spiked club, clearly intending to harm him. In order to defend my ally, I acted immediately, thereby exposing myself to danger by channeling white lightning at the rampaging orc. The orc was stunned, but once it rallied, it aimed it's blood lust at me instead. It appeared to me at the time, as though Arthos were charging towards me with his blade drawn, to intercept the orc, but to my astonishment, I absorbed a crushing blow from Arthos' greatsword, inadvertently channeling my white armor spell, the ice-cold magic of the moon through his sword, knocking him backwards. To my aid came the druid. Having transformed into a bear, she clawed and smashed her way to my defense, making short work of the orc and knocking Arthos unconscious. Quickly restrained by rope, to protect Arthos until we knew the nature of his strange behavior. I was convinced that he had been bewitched by what turned out to be an orc female, maybe she had been a witch and ensorcelled him? The truth however, was far more mysterious. Unbeknownst to me, the orc had been holding a baby & the strange god that Arthos reveres, prohibits him from taking innocent life, and it would seem, demands vengeance for lives thus taken. '' ''Of course, I knew not of the babe when I acted in the heat of battle, dispatching the evil orc, to save Arthos' life. Once Arthos was convinced of the truth of my innocence, he was freed by my hand and I rendered emotional aid, consoling him. The druid however, being of pure elvish blood, understandably had some reservations about the orcish speaking & orc avenging warrior. I cannot really convey the anxiety and tense emotion of the disuniting of our elvish fellowship in that dark cave. '' ''As it happens, the reason for the orc's charge, it would seem, was to protect a magical weapon of some power, buried beside the small treasure chest. The weapon was massive, carved from the thigh bone of some ancient animal. It was large, but surprisingly light for it's size, and it appeared as ancient as the mountains surrounding it. It was finely crafted, but had a primitive look to it, it is something I would imagine being wielded by a giant barbarian from the Frostfell in the north, beyond the Mithril mountains. Eventually our elvish fellowship, though sundered for now, made it back to the keep with a small fortune. Split 'tween the three of us, was the 300 gold piece bounty for the slaying of the griffon, nearly 400 more gold pieces from selling the old Azgornian coins, gems, & other items from the cave, including two magical elixirs contained in waterskins & of course, the aforementioned weapon of ancient, mystical origin. What a successful expedition! Off I went to relax (gloat) at the Drunken Fox, when an agent of the Baronial courts entered looking for me. Apparently, the distrust & antipathy between the druid and our strange companion, Arthos, continues, for she battled him in the Baronial court for ownership of the magic weapon. Much to my surprise and dismay, this caused me to set aside my wine and testify before the magistrate. Luckily, the night ended in merriment, back at the Fox, belly full of wine and sitting near the fireplace. Warm. '' ''